


all over

by orangelight



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, but not really?, but nothing happens, mild mentions of fat-shaming, really it's just pure fluff, some discussion of sex at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 15:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangelight/pseuds/orangelight
Summary: Perhaps that was why they argued so often. Enjolras knew that he would forever be harboring a passionate desire for a man who would never feel the same for him, and even he was ultimately just a slave to the turmoil of unrequited love that bubbled, quiet but constant, deep inside of him.





	all over

**Author's Note:**

> i'm drunk and thought "there aren't enough fics where enj and r have cute conversations about nothing" so I started writing and then it just became a fic where enj and r are very unaware and there ARE too many of those. I failed. this is my first fanfic so i'm sort of testing the waters of whether or not I will ever write one again after this self-indulgent clusterfuck airs out all my dirty laundry to the masses 
> 
> no beta-ing I didn't even reread it, will probably have to edit it in the morning. forgive me.... forgive me
> 
> let me know if I should tag anything

The members of the ABC had been so busy with their combined work and class loads that the last two weekly meetings had been attended by only a small few. It had left Enjolras feeling lonely, even when the days were so filled with tasks that he could barely find the time to sleep (and would, on most occasions, simply choose to go without such distractions). 

****

Even so, he finds it hard to be a part of their merriment. Being the last “meeting” before vacation, his friends had decided to do without the actual discussion and planning and simply drink and enjoy one another’s company. He had been thoroughly outvoted on this decision.

****

It isn’t that he doesn’t like them, like some tend to assume- on the contrary, he adores them. They are the most important people in his life (and, perhaps, the only people). They are kind and smart and funny and wonderful, and he couldn’t imagine how grey his existence would be without them.

****

He just can’t fully participate in their leisure time activities. It’s common knowledge that Enjolras can stop a crowd dead in its feet with only his voice and precise, powerful eloquence, but this is just an intended side-effect of hours and hours of preparation and practice; in his day-to-day, it often seems nearly impossible for him to string together a combination of words that doesn’t completely turn off the other party. 

****

This is why he sits separate from them, his notes splayed out but ignored on the table. He can converse about politics and history with Combeferre and Feuilly, but he hates how awkward and stilted he is with the rest of them. He certainly knows about them, knows all the things they like and are doing, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they never realized it. Jehan had told him it was lovely even though Enjolras hadn’t mentioned it, but Jehan tended to find a multitude of unsavory things ‘lovely.’

****

Either way, he enjoys their happiness (however drunken and foolish it is) and he smiles at them even when they aren’t looking. 

****

He also muses briefly that Grantaire is similar, in that he, too, is usually apart from the rest when Enjolras speaks, but the thought vanishes when he remembers that the moment Enjolras retreats, he reenters the circle without a glance backwards. His chest aches absently.

****

He’s been in love with him for nearly two years. They had only known each other a month when he realized, and Enjolras remembers exactly what caused it- the impish grin, the dark eyed gaze, the challenge. He’d seen it countless times since, and it never ceased to be effective. 

****

Grantaire had changed since then, growing a bit more joyfully personal with his insults and  _ quite  _ a bit more plump- Enjolras had never considered either of those things to be his taste, but they certainly were now- and every incremental shift made him infinitely more cherished in Enjolras’s heart.

****

Perhaps that was why they argued so often. Enjolras knew that he would forever be harboring a passionate desire for a man who would never feel the same for him, and even he was ultimately just a slave to the turmoil of unrequited love that bubbled, quiet but constant, deep inside of him. 

****

They could behave amicably, of course- their occasional talks did not  _ always  _ lead to senseless bickering- but Grantaire’s feelings, it seemed, were more of amusement at the way he could so easily infuriate Enjolras than any true sense of friendly affection. He was a terribly personable man with a vast supply of good humor and generosity, but that supply ran short a bit more readily where Enjolras was concerned.

****

And he loved him still. Though the others were smart, none were as quick as Grantaire. They were well-learned, but none on so many subjects as Grantaire. They were handsome, but none so unique and striking as Grantaire. 

****

(Others may have disagreed on the subject of Grantaire’s supposed beauty, with his excess body weight, crooked nose, severe acne scarring and the way only one eyelid sadly drooped down, but Enjolras was, to put it delicately, far too fucking whipped to think of those attributes as anything but entirely positive.)

****

Suddenly, a glass of wine is thrust into Enjolras’s vision- it had cut through his quiet, personal reverie and surprised him, so he reacts, embarrassingly, with a startle.

****

“Whoops, jump-scared ya,” Grantaire’s amused voice comments. Enjolras’s body is overcome by a new, terrifying sensation that feels as if it’s building up to a _squeal_ at the wide-eyed, smiling expression on Grantaire’s face. 

****

His permanent stubble was recently trimmed, handsomely shading his masculine jaw, and his shirt has just a tasteful splattering of paint near the hem- quite different from the Pollock disaster of so many other items in his collection. There’s another more mysterious stain below one armpit, and Enjolras forgets to be bothered by the sloppiness and is instead intrigued by the elusivity of its origin (had he spilled coffee? Wiped the grease from his fingers onto his shirt again? Maybe he’d been drunk while wearing it and pulled it off to sleep, obliviously flaunting his bare torso, but wound up curled warmly in his bed with it pillowed under his precious raven curls and, his body overcome, drooled in that particular spot before hastily throwing it, still wet, on to come here).

****

It’s only a split second of observation, but Enjolras has to clear his throat to dislodge the uneasiness he’d inflicted on himself. He takes the offering and is careful to not let their fingers brush. 

****

“Thank you. How do you do,” He recovers, sipping experimentally as Grantaire loudly falls into the chair across from him. The other man does not reply immediately, rather choosing to make a show of stretching heavily tattooed arms over his head with an exaggerated groan and relaxing further- somehow- into a sprawl. 

****

“So good,” He finally responds, a lazy smile playing dazzlingly on his thin, chapped lips. “I got an A on my final project.”

****

He’d been informed of Grantaire’s stress through the worried chatter of their friends, though there had never been a doubt in his mind of Grantaire’s abilities. He’d never met someone so talented, who could make such beautiful, evocative things, art that  _ Enjolras  _ actually found interesting. He thought Grantaire positively ingenious, and it made him happy to know he was not the only one who did.

****

“Grantaire,” He says, setting the wine down and clasping his hands together on the table. His expression is solemn but his eyes shining. “I cannot tell you how immeasurably proud I am of you. I know how hard you worked and how much pressure you’ve been under these last few weeks, and I-”

****

“You realize,” Grantaire says, quite abruptly. He acts as though he’s informing Enjolras of some terrible fault of his. “You’re kind of a sweetheart underneath that serious, perpetually skyward gaze. Thought you should know it’s showing.”

****

Enjolras blinks rapidly, thrown off by the interruption. “Pardon?”

****

Grantaire clears his throat, leans forward, and begins to repeat himself in an overly enunciated, booming voice: “ _ You are- kind of- a-” _ __  
_  
_ “Yes,  __ thank you,  Grantaire! I meant that I’m not sure what I’ve done that would make you say that.”

****

He is met with a searching stare that he finds difficult to return. Grantaire sighs, resting his cheek on his fist without looking away, and seems to like whatever it is he finds in Enjolras’s eyes.

****

“Why are you always by yourself when everyone is having fun?”

****

His voice is ineffably tender. By miracle, Enjolras doesn’t choke. “Why are you always by yourself when we’re being serious?”

****

“I am wild,” He drawls, one eyebrow rising conspiratorially. Enjolras chokes.

****

“Quiet, you,” is all that he can reply, covering his own embarrassment by drinking. He nearly whines in suffering when his cock twitches faintly. He is too exhausted by finals to be prepared for Grantaire this happy, his dark charm at full-force and directed at no one but him. 

****

He looks up in time to see Grantaire- sweet, sweet Grantaire, illuminated by the yellow lamplight, his cheek squished adorably against his hand, his nearly-black eyes glittering- shyly bite his bottom lip and glance away before looking back. Enjolras’s cock, previously in a state of limbo between ‘not hard’ and ‘deciding to become hard’ immediately makes said decision and throbs in his pants. He lurches and spills half of the glass of wine all over himself, coughing and sputtering idiotically as Grantaire watches, deeply unimpressed.

****

“...Are you dying?” 

****

“Yes- fuck, I mean no- I mean- oh, Christ, wait, I didn’t mean to say-”

****

“Holy shit, you  _ cussed.” _

****

“It was an accident, that does not excuse you from doing it so often-”

****

“Enjolras  _ cuuuussed.” _

****

“It makes you sound less intelligent-”

****

“I am most definitely not the one who currently needs to be worrying about looking less intelligent.”

****

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

****

Enjolras lets his head fall to the table with a thud and a pitiful whimper. 

****

“Damn,” Grantaire says, finally. “Finals hit pretty boy’s pretty ass pretty hard.” 

****

Enjolras lifts his head a fraction to glare at him. Grantaire is biting his tongue and grinning, a coy giggle shaking his shoulders. “Ugh. You are a little devil.”

****

His expression turns confused for a moment, but the smile doesn’t fade. “Jeez, can’t even goof on a guy. Besides, who’s ‘little’, shortstack?”

****

Righting himself completely, Enjolras fixes a baleful look on him. “Don’t body shame.”

****

“Ain’t no shame,” Grantaire laughs. “You’re just short. Have I ever made a Napoleon complex joke about you? I’m sure I must’ve.”

****

Rolling his eyes, Enjolras reaches for a napkin and begins to wipe the pale red wine from his neck and hands. “Yes, and you’re fat, but I don’t go around making jokes about it.”

****

When he’s met by only a long stretch of silence from his conversational partner, Enjolras curiously looks up from himself and feels his stomach drop. Grantaire’s brows are furrowed upwards, his eyes wide and his smile gone, an expression of shock and hurt written plainly on his face for barely a second before he schools it into one of faux mirth.

****

“Ha,” He tries, and the tightness of his voice rips Enjolras’s heart in half. Grantaire won’t meet his eyes. “Yeah- that’s- haha, yeah.”

****

“Grantaire,” He starts, and Grantaire looks back at him with a strained smile. “I didn’t- I hadn’t meant for it to be an insult.”

****

“Haha, what? No, I’m not insulted, everyone knows I’m disgusting, it’s funny.”

****

“Grantaire…”

****

“No, shit,” Grantaire grimaces, all pretense of levity evaporating. He pushes himself back into his chair and lets his head fall, rubbing his hand over his closed eyes. “I didn’t mean for it to sound so guilt-trippy, I was just- fuck. I ruined it.”

****

Enjolras, not knowing how else to seem sincere, moves around the table to take the seat directly beside Grantaire. “Taire, you’re not disgusting. You’re the most- most- not disgusting person I’ve ever met. You always smell like paint and wine and sometimes that- that nice sweat smell when a guy showers and then goes to the gym right after, you know the one-”

****

“I’m just going to interrupt you there,” Grantaire says, his hand falling from his eyes. “Telling someone they smell like gym sweat and alcohol isn’t the best way to cheer them up.”

****

Enjolras’s brow creases and twitches. “But it’s the _nice_ sweat smell.”

****

“Look, you don’t have to make it a whole fuckin’ deal, I’m not gonna run off and tell everyone that big mean Enjolras bullied poor old innocent me or something.”

****

“Grantaire, I upset you.” 

****

“Yes, well,” He begins, irritated, and sits up straighter. “I upset you first, and it’s not like I exactly tried to apologize!”

****

“Come on, it’s not the same thing.” Enjolras says, huffily crossing his arms. 

****

“ _ What?”  _ Grantaire whirls on him, a look of indignation on his face. “How is it not the same thing? How is it not  _ worse?  _ I actively made fun of you and didn’t stop even when you told me not to!”

****

“Because it’s  _ cute  _ when you do it, obviously!”

****

Grantaire falls silent, his face the picture of perplexity. It takes Enjolras a moment to realize why.

****

He slaps a hand over his mouth to greet the horrible sensation of blood rushing to his cheeks and ears, making his head light and the center of his abdomen chill with a mild wave of anxiety. 

“Huh.” Grantaire’s eyes narrow. “That’s a weird reaction.”

****

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says, forcing his hand from his mouth and looking everywhere and anywhere but Grantaire. “I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, it was just an- um. It was just an observation.”

****

For a long moment, there’s no reply. Grantaire only peers at him, his eyes seeming to scrutinize every centimeter of Enjolras’s face for an answer to something. Enjolras absently wishes he would actually ask him a question first. 

****

“So, it’s… You think it’s cute when I bully you?” He asks, after so long Enjolras believes he’s died from it. 

****

He does so with a slight incline of his head, all confused and hesitant like a dog trying to decipher human speech. That’s why Enjolras’s heart flutters affectionately and he answers with, “Most things you do are quite cute.” before promptly groaning in shame.

****

Grantaire nods slowly, still skeptical, but appearing as if he were close to figuring something out.

****

“Alright, so. Huh. This is weird. You don’t say things you don’t mean, but you can’t actually mean that. Like, if you’d said something like ‘sexy’ I might have been able to take it- it‘s not like I don’t get a fuckload of tail so I know that’s at least a little true even if I have the face and body of an Eldritch abomination- but ‘cute’ is- well- ‘cute’ kind of implies other things so I’m not really sure why you’d say it. Especially you, since ‘cute’ doesn’t seem to be your thing in the first place and… Okay, wait, I’ll catch you in it.”

****

“Wait, you’ll what?”   


“I’ll catch you in the lie. What are cute things I do?”

****

Oh, God. He really, really can’t handle this. “I- I can’t.”

****

“So- so you  _ did  _ lie, you prick!”

****

“I didn’t lie, Grantaire, I just- alright, fine. You’re cute when you talk with your mouth full.”

****

Grantaire snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, don’t use this as an opportunity to insult me, we were kind of getting along for a minute there.”

****

“I’m not insulting you. It’s cute. And when something falls off your fork and it lands in your lap but you still eat it anyways.”

****

“ _ Why are they all about food?!” _

****

“Grantaire, you wanted this and I have to finish it if you would shut up please-”

****

“But- it’s stupid! You’re stupid! I’m 25 and you’re way younger than me and I am too old for you to be thinking my bad manners are cute!”

****

“You  _ wanted  _ this conversation to happen!”

****

“ _ I revoke my consent!” _

****

At this point, both of them are yelling and gesticulating wildly, and half the room has glanced their way in irritation or bemusement at least once. 

****

Enjolras cries out pathetically in distress, slumping forward to lean on his knees. He really, truly does not want to be having this talk, not right now, with his dick hard and his mind exhausted from overwork. But he’d upset Grantaire, and there’s no possible way he could just let it sit- and let Grantaire think he lied to him on top of it- so he has to figure out a way to redeem himself.

****

“Look, Taire,” He begins, but Grantaire quickly cuts him off by smashing their foreheads together. 

****

“Ow, fuck!”

****

“God, what-?”

****

“Sorry, shit, sorry, I was trying to get in your face and make you uncomfortable and I went in too hard,” He explains hurriedly, watching Enjolras grimace and rub his forehead in pain. “Hey, who’s overambitious now, huh?”

****

“What. Do you  _ want.  _ From me. You monster?”

****

Grantaire chuckles airily, pulling Enjolras’s head towards his own by a pretty blond curl- successfully, this time. “Well, you think I’m just _so_ adorable, right?”

****

Enjolras, frowning, nods. 

****

“So what would you do to a cute little guy like me if I were at your mercy?”

****

He knows Grantaire is mocking him. He’s not an idiot, really, he isn’t; but he’s so close, and his breath is so warm, and he will never get the chance to say something like this again. If the bastard wants to tease him about this, he’ll at least embarrass him for it. Or just raise his confidence.

****

“I would-” Good, his voice is strong and pissed. “-ki-kiss you.”

****

No. Bad. Bad, bad, bad. 

****

“Would you, now?” Grantaire questions, all honeyed wine and sex.

****

“Yes. I would.”

****

“Just on the lips?”

****

“No,” Shit, Grantaire was good at this. He hadn’t considered you could kiss somewhere else. “Duh. Of course- other places.”

****

“Like?”

****

“In your… On your… Your feet. I would kiss your feet. And you would like it, because I’d do it- so good. Like, ridiculously. Stupid good. And you would be like… ‘No, Enjolras, don’t do that, that’s dirty’ and I’d be like ‘silence, you don’t know the depths to which I have fallen’ and then I’d- do it to your ankles, too.”

****

Grantaire clutches his chest, grinning madly. “My ankles. Perish the thought.”

****

“Oh, you think that’s bad? Then I’d do it to the scar on your upper calf, just all over it.”

****

“Lord, _ anything _ but my fucking calf scar!”

****

“And then your-” 

****

“My what?”

****

“Your- above your knee. That part.”

****

“You can’t possibly mean that.”

****

“I do.”

****

“You mean you would… Kiss my  _ thighs _ ?”

****

Enjolras moans. His face is so hot it feels like every pore is going to start bleeding simultaneously, and he’s going to drown in his own red shame. Grantaire is straining almost painfully to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter, his eyes flooded with delight. It’s nice to look at, sure, but it’s a terrible reminder that he is very out of his league as a virgin who can’t say the word ‘thigh’ trying to distress a man who’d had sex with more strangers than Enjolras could even conceive of first names for.

****

“I would,” He says, whining and feeling like he could cry. “You vexing thing.”

****

Grantaire nearly breaks. A horrible snort of glee spills from him and he has to shut his eyes and laugh silently for a few seconds. “Please don’t tell me your wretched mouth would  _ continue  _ from there.”

****

“It would, whether you like it or not,” He says, determined to at least put up a fight. “I would even lick you, you little minx, until you were writhing and openly weeping at my debauchery. I would force my mouth against your hips, all over your stomach, and up your-”

****

“ _ Up?!” _

****

“Yes, up your-”

****

“You-” Grantaire is wheezing, tears in his eyes, and shaking with manic laughter. “You skipped it! You went right past it! You didn’t even stop to consider it an option!”

****

Enjolras gazes at him, confused and blinking slowly. “What did I skip?”

****

“My fucking dick! My cock, my penis, you just went- whoop!- right on over, what the fuck?!”

****

Enjolras swallows heavily. He’d considered it, of course, but he wasn’t sure he could handle it. “I figured it might be a bit much.”

****

“You don’t even know what to do with one, do you?”

****

“I do too know.”

****

“Then what? What would you do with it? If you think I’d weep from getting my hip kissed, can you imagine me when you’re sucking my cock? Do you want to? Huh? You wanna suck my cock, bad boy?”

****

Grantaire is very much up in his face, their noses touching and everything. It’s incredibly nerve wracking. “Yeah- um, kiss. Kiss first. All over kiss. First.”

****

“No way. All over? A kiss? A kiss that’s all over, is that what you’re telling me?”

****

“Oh, my God, Taire, so all over… You wouldn’t believe it.”

****

“Yeah? You gonna kiss my ass, pretty boy?”

****

He freezes. “...Woah. Yeah. That’s a nice- wow, good one. I mean, hell yeah. Yeah! You’re so good at this.”

****

He has no idea why that, of all things, is what ends the conversation, as Grantaire breaks down completely into a fit of howling laughter. His lips are on Enjolras’s before his smile is even ended.


End file.
